The Juniper And His Train
by VioTanequil
Summary: 2401. 7 days. 7 characters. 7 genres. 7 fics. Second Oneshot. Of life before death. He was abandoned once, back then, but had found something far more precious than what he had lost. Hisagi Shuuhei. Tragedy.


Ueno-eki was the train station to travel to the North from the South, and countless travelers passed through there on a good day, traveling perhaps to the National Science Museum, Bentendo, Geidai, or the famous Ueno Zoo.

When passing through the first entrance in the spring of 1887, most would come face to face with a small boy sitting near the entrance, either grinning and waving at them as they walked past, or bending over the cardboard he was sitting on.

_No one knew who he was, but it did not matter.  
_  
He was the cutest little thing they had ever seen. All fuzzy black hair and bright (surprisingly) clean smile, the boy was always there, sprawled on a cardboard box and happily doodling away.

_No one knew where he had come from, but it did not matter.  
_  
He never kept near the other homeless ones, never talked to them, never slept with the others who congregated around the ponds. Quietly, he would just sit on his flattened box and smile up at the passing crowd, his tinkling laughter filling the corridor.

_No one knew what he was laughing at, but it did not matter.  
_

He was different from the rest of them. He had no tin bowl for collecting coins, he had no clothes other than three sets of poorly made traditional clothing, and his only shelter was that single doodled-on cardboard box that he tugged around with him.

_No one knew what he was doing there, but it did not matter.  
_  
And he was different because he never asked for money. He never begged, he never pleaded, he never said anything to anyone, just sat there and doodled away on the pencil nubs that some of the kind students from Geidai would give to him when they walked past, thanked by a blinding grin and a hug from the scruffy kid.

_No one knew how he could be so happy, but it did not matter.  
_  
The security guards all knew the boy, and after attempting to chase him away from the station the first few weeks he had appeared, just gave up and let him sleep where he wanted to at night.

_No one knew why he had sought them, when they were the ones who would chase him out, but it did not matter.  
_  
The station staff all recognized him and loved him as their own. He was their little soldier, the one they would let play with all the buttons at the right time, and the one that they took turns treating and bringing out.

_No one knew why he had been left here, but it did not matter.  
_  
They tried to give him things, but he would never take anything other than a pencil nub, cardboard, and scraps of cloth. They tried to bring him away from the station and home for a proper shower, but he always managed to slink away and sneak back to the small spot in the corner of the corridor.

_No one understood why he would take the free meals, why he would sit and smile and laugh at them over the table, but would not want anything else, but it did not matter.  
_  
He was often treated to small candies by the station staff, given handkerchiefs and blankets masquerading as pieces of cloth by the university faculty. The zookeepers would bring him small, broken but still usable merchandise from the shops, and the monks, on the rare occasion that they passed by to take the trains, would pass him strings of beads for marbles.

_No one really knew why they did all this for a small kid who they did no know, but it did not matter.  
_  
He never left the station, never set a foot out of it, and plain refused to step out any further than the courtyard outside. On good days, he slept outside under the Chinese Juniper, the branches swaying slightly in the wind, the leaves rustling gently. In the winter, and on rainy nights, the watch would bundle him up, cloth, cardboard and all, and carry him into the station where the night watchman would stand near him.

_No one knew what it was about the kid that brought out their compassion, but it did not matter.  
_  
And he did not just take, but the warmth that he spread around, the small little gestures like leaving the beads behind for them, splitting the candy into two pieces and giving them half of all the things he was given, he was a little miracle. A little grinning bundle of joy, Ueno-eki's bundle of joy.

_No one knew how it was that he could have so little and yet give so much so readily, but it did not matter.  
_  
The first two months when the kid had appeared, the smile was wide and blindingly brilliant; he had jumped around and hugged his benefactors, though he never said a word. The next two months saw him calming down a little, doodling a lot more, and still remaining quiet. The months after that had him still smiling, though the happiness was a bit shaded, and the look of longing in his eyes was intensified.

_No one knew how to forever cure the shadows, but as long as they could stave them away one day at a time, it did not matter.  
_  
The happy laughter grew softer after three years, when the winter had passed once more, with the boy curled up under layers of cloth, still shivering. He was falling ill more often now, though his smile still persevered through the fevers. He grew gradually quieter, until he stopped laughing altogether. He was now eating less, and growing paler. They tried bringing him to the doctor's, but he refused to leave the station and would just crawl back every time they tried.

_No one understood why he did not want to leave the station, but they respected his wishes, and it did not matter.  
_  
It happened, that one morning when the security guard changed shift with the night watchman, and he did not wake even at noon. The boy had been sleeping for longer and longer, so they had expected him to wake later, perhaps at ten or so, but when at noon his eyes had not even opened, they began fearing for the worst.

_No one knew why they had not woken him sooner, but it was too late for regrets, and it did not matter.  
_  
Two hours later, in the hospital, as they crowded around the bed, the staff on duty wishing they could all take the day off, the guards, the night watchmen, some faculty staff, a zookeeper, and even a monk listened fearfully to the doctor's pronouncement.

_No one believed their ears, no one wanted to believe their ears, but it did not matter.  
_  
Their little soldier was dying. Impossible. Just impossible. No way. He could not be dying. He was… He was the one who had brought life to the station, the one who was the life of the station, the one whose laugh had brought light to so many of their lives. He was the station, the station was him, and that was what had brought all of them together. Out of them all, out of all the mistakes they had made, out of all the wrong things they had done, none of that had mattered to him, he had laughed and smiled and hugged and cared for them in his own little ways.

_No one left the room after that, despite the fact that not one of them truly believed that their little soldier was going to die, not a single one of them could not bear to leave the room. There was nothing they could do, but it did not matter.  
_  
His eyes flickered open, and his fingers squeezed weakly, signs that on any other day would have been alarming, but the whole room filled with cheers as they grinned and hugged the boy who was too surprised to notice that he was lying in a proper bed for once, and was not in the station. Leukemia or not, he was their little soldier, and he would always be their little soldier.

_Not a single tear was in their eyes, even though moments ago, half the room had been in shock and denial. There was still nothing they could do, they were still deceiving themselves, but it did not matter.  
_  
A small smile came to his lips, and the only words they heard him speak came out in a soft, lilted tone, before he grinned up at them, with what seemed to be his last burst of energy, and fell silent, eyes shining brightly.

"I want to ride the train."

And they took him. They took him, all of them, together, a large group of smiling people taking the train together, laughing and pointing out sights to the small boy in the wheelchair, now too weak to walk.

_No one wanted to come to terms with what was happening, they could not do anything, so they would not do anything but help make him happier. They masked their sadness behind the laughs and cheering, not quite sure if they were cheering him up or cheering themselves up. But it did not matter.  
_  
The boy was one of their own, he was their little soldier, and he was leaving them, but they would not let him, not until they had shared the warmth of the region, let him see the sights of the place which he had come to call home. They stayed by his side for the next three days, when he returned to the station and sat beneath that juniper tree for hours, before they gently wheeled him to watch the gingko leaves turn yellow in Ueno Park.

They brought him to feed the fish in the many, many ponds, but they were the ones who fed the fish, him just sitting there wrapped in blankets as he smiled and watched the fish flock to the food.

The zoo was a nice attraction, and all the zookeepers put on a fabulous performance for him, though by then, he was too tired to look up properly, though still treating them to a slight smile when it was over.

The last day, and they had not known that it was the last day, he had quietly, so quietly that they had not heard him, requested to be wheeled back to the old juniper tree, which he sat under and closed his eyes, falling asleep.

_No one had the heart to wake him, and no one did.  
_  
The funeral was a small affair, each of the staff, the faculty, the zookeepers and even the monks chipping in a little to buy him a small last resting spot, his last box made from the tree he used to sleep under. The rites were simple, they had not known what sort he would have liked, and it was finished quickly.

_No one quite knew how to speak at the funeral, but it did not matter.  
_  
There were no words to convey what they meant, what they felt, how it hurt. And it should not have hurt so badly, after all, he was just a stranger, just a small little boy by the side of the station who had entered their lives abruptly, and left them even more so.

They bought him a set of clothing, a clean, fresh, new set, a pair of shoes and socks to match. The three sets of clothes he had had were folded and placed with him, together with small items, hundreds of nubs of pencils in a small tin box, scraps of cloth stitched together to form a blanket, one that he had never had. Marbles, tops, a slingshot, a small knife, a pen, a whistle, a small coil of rope all found their places beside him.

_No one gave him nothing. Each walked past, pressing a small item into his hands. They all knew it was pointless, but it did not matter. They had wanted him to have these things, and even though he would never get them, they would do what they could.  
_  
So it had ended, so abruptly, and the station gradually went back to its old self, back when before he had arrived, though the bonds still remained. It was still a custom to take lunch together in the station, still a custom to leave out the cardboard box on good days, and bring it in on the bad days. Some travelers remarked briefly on the absence of the little kid, before noting the expressions and being directed to the tiny stone memorial that they had placed together with a new juniper sprout in the courtyard.

_No one would remember the station itself, but it did not matter.  
_  
No one forgot the little kid with the bright smile, whose life had been filled with the love of strangers.

_And no one knew his name._

* * *

He loved patrolling around Ueno district, Taito ward, Tokyo.

And no one but him, and all the station staff who could see him and missed him, knew why.

* * *

Thus read the marker where the first juniper had been,

--

**Hisagi Shuuhei**

檜佐木 修兵

_?? - August 14, 1890_


End file.
